


the devil of an angel

by dutiesofcare



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Chaos, Drunkenness, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Hangover, Humor, Post-Star Wars: A New Hope, Romance, Types of Drunk Personalities, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26736730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutiesofcare/pseuds/dutiesofcare
Summary: Luke had never drunk alcohol before.Han decides to change that, though with the chaos that ensues and as he's left with a very drunk Luke and a very drunk Leia, he may regret his own enthusiasm.
Relationships: Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker & Han Solo, Leia Organa/Han Solo, Luke Skywalker/Han Solo
Comments: 15
Kudos: 79





	the devil of an angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [threepios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/threepios/gifts), [theneverending](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theneverending/gifts).



> For Tina, happy birthday my dear friend.
> 
> For Ashley, from whom I stole this prompt and turned it into Chaos and also has a birthday today.
> 
> I hope you two have a wonderful day.

It all began as an ordinary day.

Of course, Han Solo should know by now that there wasn’t such a thing as  _ an ordinary day  _ in the rebellion’s secret base. 

Still,  _ somehow,  _ it started just like an average day. Han Solo woke up in the loneliness of the Millennium Falcon, ignored the annoying sound of his alarm (the alarm that The Galaxy’s Most Annoying Highness insisted he should get because if he would be hanging around the rebellion’s headquarters, then he wouldn’t sit by idly while everybody else worked) and tossed and turned in bed, hoping to get a little more shuteye. 

(But there was that little voice, that very infuriating voice in the back of his mind that no longer allowed him to have a clear conscience about frivolous things such as  _ sleeping in.  _ He wanted nothing more than to get as far away from the Royal Annoyance Voice and yet, for reasons he couldn’t comprehend, he kept being drawn to it.)

So, he got up. Put on his wrinkled, old clothes and stepped out of his personal, serene ship into the chaotic mess of the rebellion. 

(Really, he couldn’t understand how these bunch of fools intended to overthrow an entire Empire when most of the time they couldn’t even agree on what they would serve for breakfast.)

He returned the few smiles that people smiled at him, greeted Chewbacca as he passed by him — because,  _ of course _ , the Wookie was far too interested in their pathetic cause and was willing to help in any way he could — and then proceeded towards the cafeteria. He didn’t really care for any of those people, he was more of a lone wolf.

(Well, that’s how he  _ saw  _ himself, at least. Bystanders would argue that description when he spent the entirety of his days helping out the rebellion hero Luke Skywalker in his chores or chasing the rebellion leader Leia Organa around with the main intention of annoying her to death — or, maybe, into a kiss? — with his small talk.)

(Most days, he did believe he was getting somewhere with her. Evidence A) as of the past months, she went from wanting to kill him to simply wanting to smack his face.)

Despite what he’d like to believe, Han  _ did  _ have a routine. A routine that consisted of marching into the cantina, looking like he didn’t  _ care _ , finding the table where his only —  _ not  _ — friend usually sat by himself, or sat with  _ her,  _ and he would join them and just talk to them about everything and nothing at all until they all hopefully wasted an entire morning and they wouldn’t even need to move to have lunch.

(Of course, Miss Worship Princess was prone to see the game he was playing, and she was always eager to spend breakfast with them only to boss them into work once they were finished. Luke, on the other hand, always fell into his traps and was apt to waste mornings away simply telling tales of his childhood in the desert.)

(The only problem with  _ those  _ mornings was if Her Worshipfulness came to find them idly sitting there. Then, it was over for both of them.  _ Especially  _ for Han (she did seem to treat Luke like he was an innocent little thing that needed to be shielded from Han’s malice.))

Han would hate to say that his entire world was thrown upside down when he arrived at the cafeteria and noticed several people circling around  _ his  _ table — well, the table where Luke was seated — but life did seem to lose some of its meaning at that precise moment.

Putting the veil of the cool smuggler that didn’t care about anything or anyone but himself back on, Han Solo strode there with carefree steps, his hands on his hips as he announced, “What’s going on here?”

“Han!” Luke eagerly shouted his name, and, like magic, there was now an available seat for the smuggler. 

“Hey, kid,” Han kindly greeted him, sitting across the table from him. “What is this, you’re throwing a party and you didn’t invite me?”

Luke Skywalker smiled coyly at him, his face flushing, but didn’t reply.

“He’s shy, Han,” one of the pilots, Wedge Antilles, remarked. “It’s his  _ birthday _ .”

“Your birthday, huh?” Han shot his eyebrows up, “You’re turning what, fifteen?”

There was laughter all around, and it only intensified the color on Luke’s cheeks.

“I’m turning  _ twenty _ , actually.”

Han smirked, “I’m not sure that helps your case.  _ At all _ .”

Laughter again; this time, Luke joined in. 

“Well, I’d rather be  _ twenty  _ than be an old fossil like you, Han.”

“Hey,” Han feigned being hurt and pointed his index finger at him. “You respect your elders, kid.”

The teasing and bickering each other’s head off went on for a while as the crowd slowly dissipated. One person or another would stop by to pay Luke their compliments but would soon be on their way, eventually leaving the two men on their own.

“So,  _ twenty, _ ” Han remarked. “You’re finally a man.”

Luke lightly rolled his eyes, “Well, by the outdated definition of  _ manhood,  _ I’ve been technically a man for two years now.”

“Living under the supervision of your aunt and uncle on a short leash counts for nothing,” Han waved it off, “No, you only become a man when you officially get wasted.”

In response, Luke looked up to the ceiling and pretended to be more interested in the roof than at him.

“Luke,” warily, Han eyed him. “You  _ have  _ gotten wasted, right?”

“Hm? Yeah, sure,” Luke shrugged, still acting spacedout — which did  _ not  _ help with Han’s suspicions.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Han accused, torn between being perplexed or amused at his innocence. “Please tell me you’ve at least had a  _ beer  _ in the short span of this miserable life of yours.”

“I did buy one once!” Luke enthusiastically replied — in fact, buying a beer was his first rebellious deed after the death of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. His excitement soon disappeared, though. “Then a guy next to me lost their arm and I didn’t feel like drinking anymore.”

“Pathetic,” by now, Han had decided to embrace a loud laugh at him. “That’s it. We’re taking you out for drinks tonight.”

With the look that Luke gave him, he did resemble to be  _ fifteen,  _ about to do something behind his parents’ back.

(The parent, in this situation, was definitely a certain princess playing grown up around the base.)

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Han?”

“When have I ever had a bad idea—Hey, Your Worshipfulness!”

(Han was acutely aware of how much she hated every one of his nicknames for her; really, the way her body twitched at the mere sound of them made it quite obvious. However, she had never verbally addressed her annoyance at them, and he wouldn’t stop until she explicitly asked him to.)

(And she prided so much in being so above them all that he doubted that day would ever come.)

(A little to his dismay, maybe, but he wasn’t about to confess that even to himself.)

Just like predicted, Leia Organa stopped in her tracks at the sound of the title that could only be aimed at her. She took a moment to roll her eyes, to let her annoyance cool off, before turning around to face the two of them with a polite — but a little bit sardonic — smile.

“Don’t be shy, come sit with us,” Han smirked, and she only did it because Luke seemed genuinely happy to see her. 

“You look pretty today.”

Although the compliment took her by surprise and made her apple cheeks blush, she did smile at him. Oh, sweet Luke, so clumsy with his words and manners but always so kind. Han, on the other hand, offered the young boy a dirty look.

“Now, just because you’re of age, kid, it doesn’t mean you’ve earned the right to be rude,” Han seriously lectured him, “She looks pretty  _ every  _ day,” then, he turned his head to Leia, “You do look lovely today. Have you had a wash?”

Luke became redder than an apple at the comment; he wanted to  _ disappear.  _ Leia, on the other day, shot the smuggler her death glare.

“Unlike you, I don’t pride myself on having my pores exude any fetor,” she snapped, her debunk powerful enough to have Luke regain his normal color and mouth  _ ouch.  _ “Don’t be an ass to Luke, Han. He was being sweet.”

Luke strongly gave him a nod, to concur with everything that she had said. Unlike expectations, though, Han didn’t at least get rid of his trademark smirk.

“Is that a new dress?” he inquired, “Did you dress up for Luke’s birthday?”

Folding her arms to hide her dress away from his prying eyes, she focused her attention exclusively on Luke. “It’s your birthday, Luke?”

Shyly, he agreed with a gentle curtsy. 

“How old are you turning?”

“Twenty.”

There was a moment of puzzledness written across her face, but it was gone too fast for Luke to try and decipher what it meant. Even so, before he could react, Leia had extended her arm to find his hand and give it a tight squeeze.

“Happy birthday, Luke. May your path be a luminous one. I wish you the very best.”

He wrapped her tiny hand between both of his, a soft grin in the corner of his lips as he whispered to her only, “Thank you, Leia.”

Like a spoiled child who refused to share the attention of their parents with anybody else, Han Solo soon found himself poking Leia’s shoulder until she looked at him again.

“We’re going out for drinks tonight,” he said, “Come with us.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Han spoke ahead of her.

“Luke has  _ never  _ drunk in his life. Can you believe it?” he exposed Luke without a single care. “We gotta change that, Leia. We can’t allow him to carry on living without having at least  _ one  _ drink for his twentieth birthday.” 

She made a face and hid her chuckle behind her fingers. “Be nice to him, Han. He’s just a kid. Hasn't even had his first drink yet.”

Taken aback that she would pick on him as well, Luke’s jaw fell open, and the image of him only intensified Han’s amusement.

“So? You’re coming or nah?”

Leia cleared her throat delicately as she regained her composure. “I’d love to, but I… I  _ can’t _ .”

“Ah, come on, Leia,” Luke whined, and it was clear that her refusal had saddened him. “It’s my  _ birthday.  _ We’re going to have fun…! What was the last time you had fun, anyway?”

Leia sighed, clasping her hands together over the table;  _ a long time ago.  _ “Luke, I hope you’ll have the greatest time tonight. But I  _ can’t  _ go, I apologize.”

Han was watching her intently, trying to read deeper into the body signs she had just begun to show — her eyes looking down, her hands holding tightly to one another, one of her legs nervously tapping against the floor.

“You  _ tricky  _ little thing, you have a date tonight.”

“What?!” Leia snapped her neck towards Han so fast that it made a sound. “Where do you even get your crazy ideas from, laser brain?”

“Forgive me, Your Highnessness, I didn’t know that you having a date was a  _ crazy idea _ ,” he threw his hands up in defense. “Besides, it makes sense. You’re busy tonight with something you can’t reschedule, not even for  _ Luke,  _ and you do everything for Luke. Also, you’ve clearly taken extra time this morning to tidy yourself up. You chose your nicest dress, you’ve done an elaborated hairstyle rather than the usual braids you wear, and do tell us who the lucky bastard is, Princess.”

(He was referring to the thick braids she had crafted like a crown over her head that met in a fancy bun by the nape of her neck, and the white dress she wore with a long skirt down to her ankles, a tight body and waistline, and lace for the long sleeves and the collarbones. No, Han Solo did not spend too much of his time looking at her. In fact, he barely paid her any attention. Where would you be getting that from?)

Leia chewed on her lower lip anxiously until he finished his babblings. “Rest assured, Han. I don’t have a date tonight. That’d be absurd.”

(He would like to say that it wasn’t an absurd for her to be going on a date, that she was a gorgeous, brilliant woman who deserved to find someone who would  _ worship  _ her; he didn’t, because A) that would imply he would  _ like  _ to make her the happiest woman alive, that he would make her feel loved and cherished and he would be  _ good  _ to her, and B) he was already far too busy trying to contain the feeling of relief inside his chest that she wasn’t going on a date, not with anyone that wasn’t  _ him _ .)

“Well, if you’re not going on a date,” Luke shyly interrupted, before Han and Leia’s bantering turned into blood. “Then why can’t you come with us? You’re part of the trio, Leia, it won’t be the same without you.”

She tried to smile — the prospecting of belonging to something did appease her a little. Somehow, for reasons she didn’t want to understand but understood very well, it also saddened her more than she would like to admit.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must go.”

She started to get ready to leave, and with a sense of defeat and sorrow hanging over them, both men waited; they waited, and waited, and waited for the command that was bound to come. It didn’t.

Han and Luke exchanged confused looks, and Han was the one to dare, “You… You’re not gonna boss us back to work?”

“ _Back_?” she emphasized the word, “When did you _ever_ start to work, anyway?”

He pouted. “Whenever you  _ told  _ me to, Your Princessness.”

She discreetly rolled her eyes. “Well, today you’re exempt from working.”

Luke looked overly happy at her permission to lay off for the day; Han, however, knew better than to just walk into one of her traps. “Even  _ me _ ?”

“Yes, Han, even you.”

She was about to get up; in fact, she was halfway between a sitting and standing position when Han held her by the wrist and suddenly she was back sitting again.

“Out with it, Leia,” he demanded, “You’re not leaving here until you tell us what’s upsetting you.”

“You’re  _ insane _ ,” Leia accused but did not attempt to try and leave again. “I’m not upset. In fact, I’m as happy as I usually am.”

(He refrained himself from telling that  _ that  _ didn’t usually mean much.)

“Leia,” Luke tried, his voice sweet and tender in comparison to Han’s. He reached out to her and placed his hand over her wrist, feeling the rhythm of her heartbeat under his fingertips. “Come on. Talk to us.”

Leia looked up, rather than at any of them, as if she was trying to constrain  _ something.  _

“It’ll be my birthday gift, okay?” he said, “You telling me why you’re feeling sad today.”

She chuckled softly, “You content yourself with little.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Luke corrected her, “Learning why you’re sad and maybe having the chance to make you happy again means  _ everything _ .”

He was so sweet, and she didn’t deserve him. “It’s just… Ah, you’re happy, and it’s your birthday, and I don’t want to bring the mood down.”

Still, he wouldn’t let it go. “If you’re sad,  _ I’m  _ sad, Leia.”

“That’s stupid.”

“That’s stupid.”

Han and Leia said at the same time, and well — maybe it was. Luke couldn’t quite explain the connection he had with Leia to himself, this ethereal link that somehow bound them together; he wouldn’t expect them to understand it, either.

So, instead of debunking that, he simply stated, “I’m waiting, Leia.”

Feeling a little small — and maybe a little cornered, but not in a bad way — Leia pressed her hand against her mouth and, at last, murmured the truth. 

Han stared at her blankly, waiting for his ears to catch up to her words. “What?!”

Leia sighed, straightening her back again like a princess was supposed to pose. “I said, this is my first birthday without Alderaan.”

Still, Han  _ swore  _ he couldn’t understand what she was saying. “You mean, this is  _ Luke’s  _ first birthday without Alderaan…?”

“What?” she knitted her brows at him, “Why would Alderaan’s death affect Luke? He’s never even been to Alderaan.”

“I don’t know!” Han cried a little desperately, “You just said—”

And her face shut down again. “I said it’s my first birthday without Alderaan, and I’m feeling a little…  _ sad _ .”

(Upon hearing her confession for the second time — and fully grasping what she meant — he wanted nothing more than to give up his life if it meant she would never have to suffer the pain of having her entire planet and life taken from her)

(Was that how love felt like? Because if so —  _ yickes _ .)

“Wait,” Luke interfered, a little more eagerly than the situation dictated. “It’s your birthday today too?”

A little self-conscious, Leia simply nodded.

“Why didn’t you say so, Leia!” Luke nearly shouted.

“It — It’s barely relevant. To me, anyway. It doesn’t mean anything other than I’m getting older.”

“Liar,” Han accused with a grave voice. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be feeling sad.”

She made a face at herself. “Okay, well. The birthday itself doesn’t matter. I didn’t dress up or fix my hair nicely for vain reasons — mostly I just wanted a distraction from today's date. It’s more — the significance that it had to my parents and me. You know, because I was adopted, I didn’t  _ come  _ from my parents, so my birthday was a little more special than all the other birthdays. Because it was the day my parents found me, and the day I found my parents.”

“You were adopted?!” Luke, very much on his element, was focusing on the little things that were way beyond the point, and Han felt like snapping at him for being so insensitive (he didn’t, because he  _ really  _ wasn’t in the place to call other people’s insensitivity), “But you’re… You’re a princess?”

Leia eyed him funnily, internally grateful that he was sidetracking from the main focus and somehow grounding her. “Can’t princesses be adopted?”

Luke looked at her with a blank expression. “I genuinely have no idea.”

Leia laughed.

“How old are you turning again?”

“Twenty.”

Luke’s eyes widened, and his lips opened and closed several times before any sound made it past them. “Wait, so you’re saying that you were adopted, and you’re turning twenty today, and  _ I  _ was fostered myself, and I’m also turning twenty today—”

Before he could finish his line of thinking, Han pointed his finger at him. “ _ Don’t.  _ Whatever you were going to say, don’t say it. That’s  _ creepy _ .”

“You don’t even know where I was going!”

“I’m not  _ stupid,  _ Luke.”

Again, Leia chuckled at their bantering.

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” she gently prompted. “It would be…  _ magical.  _ Unfortunately, Luke, life isn’t made of fairy tales. The odds of what you’re proposing are so slim they’re almost ridiculous. Besides, it would hardly matter. We’ve found our way to ourselves either way, haven’t we?”

“I guess,” he agreed softly. “I’m sorry that you’re hurting though. Birthdays should be a reason for happiness, not sorrow.”

“It’s okay,” she smiled gratefully at him.

“What did you usually do for your birthday? Back on Alderaan?”

And her attention was back on Han. “Nothing, actually. Well, my mother was the Queen and my father was a Senator and I was a Princess — we all had our duties. So, on my birthdays, we would usually just take the day to do nothing. Absolutely nothing other than to enjoy each other’s presence. Be a family; just a family.”

“That’s sweet,” Luke beamed at her story.

Han agreed. “So, we’ll just  _ have  _ to do the same. The three of us, we’re a family, aren’t we? We’ll take the day to be just that — a family. And this isn’t up for debate, Little Princess.”

She choked out a laugh; it was a weird sound, it could easily be mistaken by all her emotions finally getting the best as she became overwhelmed by a strange love.

He was expecting some resistance and was impressed when there wasn’t any. “Okay, then? Drinks tonight, just the three of us. I’ll pay,” he said, then tilted his head towards Leia, “With your card, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed without any reluctance, quickly brushing the palm of her hand against her eyes.

“You  _ have  _ had a drink before, haven’t you, Leia?” Han asked suspiciously, “Or are you  _ really  _ Luke’s separated at birth twin?”

“Of course I’ve had,” Leia replied, looking at Luke as she said, “I’m not a  _ prude _ .”

It was Han’s turn to mouth  _ ouch  _ as Luke did nothing more than to shout, “Leia!”

* * *

At night, the three of them rendezvoused at the Millennium Falcon, and they were off to an Outer Rim planet close to where the Rebellion was currently hiding out — a planet that Han  _ swore  _ on the life of his precious ship that it served the best drinks anybody could ever ask for.

(Leia knew better than to believe him; Luke was just too excited to try and discredit him (although he tended to always be on Leia’s side when it came to Han.))

As predicted — by  _ Leia  _ — the bar that Han took them to was probably the filthiest place that she had ever stepped foot to. Not even the men’s common room at the rebel base was that dirty — and  _ that  _ was saying something. 

“Cheer up, Your Veneration,” Han said when he caught her eyes warily on him, and he placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her towards an empty table. “I know it’s not the Royal Bar of Alderaan, but what it lacks in appearance it makes up in quality.”

“Delighting,” she grunted through her teeth as she took a seat with a disgusting expression on her face. Han ignored her, and Luke wasn’t giving them any attention, far too busy going through the drink menu.

“I have no idea what half of these cocktails are,” he confessed, his eyes still glued to the menu. “Leia, what are you having?”

“Hm. A glass of wine, maybe,” she said, and Han immediately scoffed next to him. She glared at him, “What?!”

“Look where you are, Princess,” he suggested, “Do you  _ honestly  _ think they serve wine here?”

Moaning several sounds of annoyance, she yanked the menu from Luke’s hand and went through it intensely.

“Let me guess,” Han arched his brow, “You don’t know what half of these cocktails are  _ either _ .”

Angrily, she threw the menu over the table. “Well, forgive me, Mr. I’ve-Lived-Through-It-All, I didn’t exactly get to waste my adolescence hopping from bar to bar as a princess.”

“Come on, Leia,” Luke called for her attention, retrieving the menu once again. “He’s just trying to get on your nerves. Here, what do you say we order these  _ Tequila Shots _ ? It says here they’re the house specialty, it’ll be fun!”

Despite Luke’s innocence, the sudden startled look on Leia’s face said that she knew  _ exactly  _ what Tequila Shots meant. Yet, as if to prove something to Han and potentially gouge those mischief eyes off his skull, she agreed.

Determined to let them suffer the consequences of their choices, Han simply let it be, while he himself ordered a single malt scotch. 

The bartender soon came with their drinks and a portion of fries (Han might be stupid but he wasn’t about to let those two fools drink on an empty stomach). Han picked up his glass casually, like something he did every day and came to him naturally; meanwhile, Luke and Leia stared at their drinks — accompanied with lemons and salt — like they were the liquified version of Darth Vader.

Han simply watched them with a smirk, too amused with how the scene would unfold to say anything.

“Okay, so how do we do this?” Luke questioned —  _ obviously  _ he would be the one without too much an ego to admit he had no idea what he was doing.

“Well,” Leia cleared her throat, so she would sound convincing, “I believe we take the shot and drink it all in, all at once.”

Luke’s eyes enlarged. “What if we choke?! I don’t know, Leia. I just turned  _ twenty,  _ I’m too young to die.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” she said, “You’re not going to die from having a Tequila Shot. Trust me, the battle of Yavin was much more likely to take your life and yet you’re still alive.”

He made a face to concede, picking up the glass between his thumb and index and taking it up to his eye, to fully analyze the transparent liquid.

“So we just… Drink it in?”

“Yup,” was all Leia replied. 

“Okay. Should we do this? I’m nervous.”

Likewise, Leia raised her glass and let it linger in front of her lips. “Cheers.”

Their glasses clicked and they were going to drink it in.

(But Han — oh, poor sweet little Han, he did think of himself as somewhat a  _ mean  _ person, always laughing at the expense of others, but he couldn’t stand to see so much stupidity in front of him and not do anything to prevent his two stupid, very stupid friends from probably making the worst mistake of their lives.)

“ _ Stop _ .”

Both Luke and Leia froze on their stances — and they actually looked relieved for the interruption.

Han rolled his eyes until they reached the back of his skull. “You — You’re doing it wrong.”

Luke placed down his glass and  _ begged _ , “Please, Han. I’m desperate here.”

Daring, Han gazed at Leia. “And you, Your Worship, you want my help too?!”

Leia scoffed. “I’d rather choke to death.”

And Luke looked like he could start crying at any time now.

“Leia,  _ please _ .”

“Fine,” she murmured, and then used her mocking voice to say, “Please, Han, would you do us the kindness of passing on your years of wisdom and teach Luke how to properly drink a tequila shot?”

Smugly, he bowed to her. “It would be my honor.”

He snatched one of the glasses of tequila to himself, alongside the lemon and the salt, and started.

“First of all, you don’t say  _ cheers _ when you’re drinking tequila. What is this, Palpatine’s private party?” he ridiculed, and Leia was one step from smacking him in the arm. “Secondly, the salt and the lemon are supposed to  _ help  _ you. They compensate for the harshness of the lower quality tequila.”

Leia glared at him, “I thought you said this was the greatest bar in the galaxy and they only served quality beverages.”

Han grinned, “You never believed me anyway, sweetheart. Then, you lick the back of your hand, like this.”

“That’s  _ disgusting _ ,” Leia pointed out, “You didn’t even wash your hands.”

“Then order something  _ else, _ ” he said and proceeded with the instructions to the dove eyed Luke in front of him. “You gotta sprinkle a small pinch of salt over your hand, the saliva will help it stick,” he picked up the lemon, on one hand, the glass of tequila on the other, “Finally — you lick the salt on your hand, down the tequila shot and bite the lemon.”

He proceeded to demonstrate his actions and made a face as the alcohol burned down his throat. Then, he threw the glass back to the table with a thud.

“Now, you do it.”

Eyeing each other cautiously, Leia and Luke did exactly as they were shown. Their faces were even worse at the immediate contact with the taste of alcohol, and Han laughed loudly at them.

“Congratulations, kid, princess. You’re  _ baptized. _ ”

Leia was a little too dazed out to think of a snappy response; Luke was still trying to decide whether he was enjoying it or ready to call it a day.

“And we just keep doing this?” he asked.

“Yup. Until you’ve had enough.”

Luke turned to Leia, “Wanna go again?”

“S—Sure.”

And without too much fuss, they downed it again.

* * *

Han should have known better. For once in his life, he should have used his brain.

(He liked to save the usage of his brain to very special occasions, so he wouldn’t overwork his brain cells. After all, there was no better way to survive than improvising. However, he should have paid close attention to the signs, he should have stepped out of his egocentric self on  _ behalf  _ of his future egocentric self.)

In his not so long but very well-lived life, he had met several different kinds of drunk people. There were happy drunks — happy people, joyous people, the life of the party people, annoying as hell people. There were sad drunks — crying people, lifeless people, sullen people, annoying as hell people. There were sleazy drunks — inappropriate people, horrible and with lascivious comments and half attempted groping that were usually incapable of making a move while sober people, annoying as hell people. 

In his life, Han Solo thought he had seen it all. He’d always been good with alcohol, and he seldomly ever allowed himself to get  _ drunk  _ — as a smuggler, it was never recommended to let his guard down; someone could always be lurking in the shadows to take him down. Because of that, he had always been well versed on how other people might act when they became drunk, and how to deal with those people without losing his patience and potentially punching them in the faces.

However, dealing with drunk Luke and drunk Leia was a very, very different thing.

(Mostly, he very much  _ wanted  _ to punch them, but considering that those were his friends, and that he sorta had orchestrated for this very scenario to happen, he was behaving himself to an extent.)

The bar was loud and crowded, and the bartender would eventually come over to their table to ask if they would like a refill. Han always declined, but Luke and Leia did accept another round of shots the first and the second time, once they had accustomed themselves to the bitterness of alcohol and were also a little too inebriated to mind getting more inebriated, anyway.

(They were also up for a third-round — oh to be young and stupid — but Han had forbidden them from getting any more drinks. Like a father, to which Leia made a very impolite hand gesture and Luke called him boring.)

(Boring? Him? Han fucking Solo? That comment hurt, and he stole Luke’s last shot as some sort of punishment, which left Luke pouting to himself for several whole minutes, refusing to even look at Han’s face, until it had completely vanished from his mind.)

Now, the only drinks over their table was a half-full bottle of water for him and a cup of coffee for her, as Han tried to sober them up a little so they’d at least make the trip back to the Falcon without any life-threatening accidents. Han’s efforts, however, weren’t exactly working, while his annoyance was only increasing by the minute.

He was just reaching the conclusion that he did not like drunk Luke very much.  _ You don’t become a man until you get wasted for the very first time  _ bullshit; in one single evening, Han found himself paying for all his crimes by having to deal with  _ him _ . 

Han had to come with a whole new category of drunk — the Luke drunk. It was close to the philosophical drunks, but worse because there were lots of whinings and several prolonged pauses of silence involved. 

(He didn’t know what annoyed him the most. His philosophies intertwined with — lack of — Jedi wisdom, or when he proposed a riddle that not even him could solve and started whining, or the moments of silence with the lingering promise that he was  _ finally  _ done talking that would soon be interrupted by his talking either way.)

Right now, Luke was philosophizing about defeating the Empire with  _ love,  _ which was pretty much the most absurd thing Han had ever heard in his life. They were lucky that Leia wasn't listening to his stupidities, because, knowing her dislike for the Empire, she was surely likely to throw a tantrum over it.

Which brought him to — the Leia kind of drunk. He wasn’t sure of what her deal was  _ yet.  _ So far, she was a quiet drunk, very alerted to her surroundings while not paying attention to what was happening right next to her at all. Still, Han doubted her intoxication would stop  _ there;  _ no, he looked at her face and he simply could tell that her brain was plotting on some very dumb thing to do.

(He was kinda anxious, kinda afraid of whatever that  _ thing  _ would turn out to be.)

“My point is, has anybody ever loved Vader?” Luke rambled on and on and on, not very capable of keeping eye contact with Han but starting to whine whenever  _ Han  _ turned his eyes away. “Which brings me back to, how could anyone love someone who looks like… that?! I mean, we barely know what’s underneath all that armor. Is he human? What happened to his body? Does he still have, you know, a phallus?”

Han knew better than to encourage him, and he regretted saying anything the moment the words escaped his lips, “A  _ phallus _ ?”

“Yeah, you know, a  _ penis _ ,” he mouthed the last word, simultaneously hiding his mouth from Leia. “Can’t say the world next to women. It’s impolite.”

Han scoffed. “How do you expect to  _ ever  _ get laid?”

“I don’t need to use my, ern,” he looked down between his legs, “To please a woman.”

Han scowled; he  _ did  _ have a point, after all. “Cheers to that, kid.”

“But as I was saying,” Luke returned to his topic, and Han was bored again. “Has anybody ever shown Vader love? Or was he simply treated as a  _ monster  _ ever since he was born? How can a person who has only known evil ever since their birth be anything but?”

“Why don’t you ask Vader that?”

“You know what, I think I might!” Luke replied excitedly. “I will do just that, next time we meet. Wait, do you have a pen? Or a piece of paper? Just so I won’t forget. I think I should write down our entire conversation from tonight. I feel like we’ve discussed some very important topics and I don’t want to forget them.”

(No, he did  _ not  _ have either a pen or a piece of paper or the will to semantically explain that Luke wouldn’t be able to do anything if he exclusively had a pen  _ or  _ a piece of paper. However, he would very promptly get those if it meant Luke would shut up and focus on his detailed report of that night.)

There was a long silence while Luke stared at the ceiling, and then—

“Wait, what were we talking about again?”

Han pressed his hand against his mouth and silently screamed into it.

“Nothing important.”

“Ah.”

“I have to pee.”

Leia had been so silent for the past minutes that her sudden, sharp voice nearly gave the two boys a heart attack. 

Then, Han stared at her perplexed. “You need to… pee? Not go to the bathroom? Or go to the toilet? Or use the restroom? Or, I don’t know, relief yourself? Off to the loo?”

“Yup,” she very slowly dragged her head up and down. “I need to pee.”

(Oh no, was the Leia drunk some sort of experience where people lost their eloquence? Was there a word for suddenly going dumb? Was she  _ broken _ ?  _ Oh no,  _ what had he done?)

Han cleared his throat so  _ he  _ wouldn’t fall out of words either. “Do you think you can go on your own? Or do you need help?”

“I can do this,” she replied coolly, and the lack of a snarky comeback equally surprised him. “I’m  _ twenty _ .”

She said it as if it was meant to mean anything in her state of inebriety, and she very disgracefully stood up, took an extra second to find her balance, and departed.

“Hm, Han,” Luke called out for him as Han intensely followed her with his eyes until she disappeared (did she even know where the bathroom was?), “Isn’t it also rude to talk to women about their urine?”

Han grunted.

“Isn’t it rude to ask  _ princesses  _ about their urine?”

Then, Han threw his head back. Hopefully, his neck would snap right there and his misery would come to an end.

“Look, kid,  _ she  _ brought it up,” he complained, “It’s not rude if they bring it up first, okay?”

“Okay,” he accepted the explanation. “I hope we don’t have to talk about Leia’s peeing habit once she comes back. Makes me uncomfy.”

“Oh, it makes you uncomfy,” Han denounced. “It’s also rude to talk about women’s urine when they’re not present. Zip it, kid.”

“Okay,” his voice withered sadly. “Do you think Darth Vader still pees?”

(He’d like to say he was laughing; in reality, his face was twitching and his chest was combusting so he wouldn’t start  _ crying _ .)

“Write that down too.”

“Am I writing anything down?”

“Yes. You’re expected to deliver a full statement to the higher-ups to explain how and  _ why  _ you’ve gotten Princess Leia drunk.”

(Okay, maybe he had been a little  _ too  _ mean for that one (after all, if anyone was to blame it was definitely  _ him _ ), but the abrupt look of terror written over Luke’s face was priceless.)

“Oh no, Han.”

“Yes, ‘oh no’ indeed,” he made quotation marks in the air. “So, for your own sake, you should probably sit in silence for a while, thinking of what you’re gonna tell them.”

“Okay.”

When Luke finally shut his mouth, Han believed he had just been sent to heaven. The sound of silence, of only external noise, was  _ music  _ to his ears. He even dared to smile to himself, leaning comfortably back on his seat to enjoy his personal space where  _ no  _ drunk people were barging up with their drunkness.

Until, of course, Luke started writing his statement.  _ Out loud. _

“Dear Mon Mothma. No, I guess I shouldn’t address her like that, it’s creepy. Miss Mon Mothma. Well, that one is a mouthful. Mouthful, wow, so many words starting with M today! Miss Mon Mothma. I must ask for your most forgiveness, for I did not mean to make Miss Leia muddled in her mood of methomania. Mind you, Miss Leia was mauling over the mourning for the mortality of her manor, and I wanted to make her merry again. Nothing makes me more miserable than watching Miss Leia miserable herself, so I must do what I can to make her merry again. It is my only mission. Much sincerely. Mister Sky Marcher.”

(Was Han drunk himself or did that make absolutely  _ no  _ sense at all?)

“What do you think, Han?”

For several seconds, Han could only look at him blankly.

“That’s great, buddy. You’ve nailed it.”

“Great!” he excitedly replied. “Now I just gotta memorize it so I won’t forget it later. Dear Miss Mon Mothma…”

Han banged his head to the dirty table with a loud thud and left it here as Luke started it all over again.

He refused to move as Luke practiced his monologue over and over and over again. 

Not even the sudden commotion at the background interested him. Probably some stupid drunk had gotten themselves into a stupid drunk fight.

Until he realized Leia had been gone for too long.

(Oh no.)

With a rush of adrenaline flooding through his body, he was out of his chair even before he traced the origin of all that agitation. He twirled around himself several times looking for it, and — as predicted, Princess Leia of the Royal House of Organa was in the middle of it.

(She wasn’t  _ merely  _ in the middle of a fight, she was clearly messing with a guy about twice her height and at least thrice her weight.)

( _ Oh no indeed _ .)

“You’re afraid of me?! Well, you should be!” she was shouting so loud that probably everyone there could hear her. “I brought Darth Vader himself to  _ his knees.  _ You are nothing,  _ nothing  _ next to him. I can crush you between my fingers and not bat an eye at it.”

And, unlike every expectation, that tall, giant man looked like he was about to  _ cry.  _ “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m so sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Oh, that’s funny, isn’t it?” Leia pressed her finger to the middle of his chest very threateningly, “You hurt other people, and then you don’t expect them to hurt you in return? Oh, I could stab you with a lightsaber right fucking now.”

And then, Han Solo found himself between the two of them, pulling Leia significantly away from the defenseless man.

“Hey hey hey!” Han shouted, struggling to constrain her as she tried to jerk away.

“Let me go, Han!” she demanded, “I have a  _ man  _ to kill.”

(So this was the definition of the Leia drunk? A drunk that brought men to tears? All things considered, Han wasn’t all that  _ mindful  _ of the Leia drunk.)

“Hey, take it easy,” Han tightened his hold around her until she remotely calmed herself. “What even did he do?”

“He groped my  _ ass _ ,” Leia loudly yelled, so every other breathing soul there would overhear her. “And now, he must die.”

(Oh, so the sleazy drunk met the Leia drunk. The Leia drunk with murderous tendencies had just gotten a few points under Han’s eyes.)

“Maybe  _ death  _ is a little bit too much,” he tried to reason, slowly setting her free again. “Maybe a punch to the face and we’ll call it a day.”

Leia gazed at him with her brows arched up. “I have your permission?”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.”

(He very much doubted that Leia, in this state of intoxication, would be able to deliver a proper punch, anyway.)

( _ Ouch  _ — apparently, he was very wrong. That must have hurt.)

“Happy now?” Han prompted with a grim as the fallen man started sobbing over the counter. He grabbed Leia’s by the wrists before she got any delusions of grandeur. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

“But—”

By then, he was pretty much dragging her across the bar. He stopped by their table, yanked Luke by the collar of his shirt, and started dragging him as well.

“We’re leaving. Period.”

Luke and Leia exchanged looks as they tried to keep up with Han’s pacing without tripping — a very difficult task for their insobriety.

It must have been that weird, alleged mental connection between them that prompted them to say simultaneously—

“Yes, Dad.”

* * *

Getting them safely back to the Falcon was probably the hardest thing Han had ever done in his entire life — and he had done a  _ lot  _ of tricky things — that left him wishing he had brought Chewie along so the Wookie would simply throw these drunk dumbfucks over his shoulder and carry them as if they were merely bird feathers.

Somehow, he did succeed. At least one victory in that very arduous night.

(He did force Luke to pee outside, though, accusing him of having a stormtrooper’s aim when drunk and proving it by throwing the first random thing he found inside his pockets and watching it hit Luke in the middle of the head because Luke barely even saw it coming, despite being quite alerted to the promise of something coming on his way. Without any excuses, Luke agreed to it.)

(However, Luke turned out to be quite self-conscious about other people — especially  _ princesses  _ — watching him pee in public, even though Leia had her heads up in the clouds, and Han was obliged to follow inside with her while leaving him under the mercy of the Force to fetch for himself.)

Han led her towards his private bunk, and Leia remained too senseless to stop him under the excuse of his ulterior motives. She didn’t even process when they arrived and he instructed her to sit down while he knelt down to remove her shoes.

At that moment, Leia existed and just that, watching with curiosity as Han struggled to understand how to untie the lace of her sandals.

“Is your hand hurting?” he asked when he caught her staring at him.

“Why would my hand be hurting?”

“Well,” he tilted his head, beaming to himself when he managed to remove one of the sandals. “You did just knock a guy down.”

“Ooooooooooooooooh,” Leia exclaimed, quite lengthy, and brought her dominant hand to her eyes to properly examine it. “I don’t think so.”

“Good,” he said, throwing both sandals to the corner of the room so they wouldn’t get in the way. Han raised himself back up. “You’re going to sleep now.”

“‘kay,” she agreed without any fight, and simply threw her back down the mattress, ready to go to sleep while still having her feet touching the floor. “This is a very comfortable bed.”

“No, it’s not,” Han huffed, “You’re just drunk.”

Abruptly, Leia leaned up on her elbows, and she genuinely looked offended. “I most certainly am  _ not _ .”

“Sure, Your Drunkenness,” he rolled his eyes, “We’ll see about that in the morning.”

“Hmmm. Okay,” she conceded once again, clumsily dragging herself up the bed and dropping her head down the pillow at the same moment that Luke walked in. “Goodnight, Han.”

“Goodnight—What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

Luke’s eyes widened, and he looked between Han and the bed and Han again in confusion. “Well… I was going to take a nap.”

“Nice try, kid,” Han grunted. “You’re sleeping on the floor.”

His mouth shaped the letter  _ O  _ and he squealed, “What, all because of Leia?!”

“Yes.”

And his face became clear and plain and forthright again. “‘kay.”

He practically dropped himself to the floor and, with his arm under his head, he closed his eyes, ready to succumb himself to sleep.

“I — I can’t decide whether you’re the devil or an angel, Han.”

“Definitely the devil,” Leia murmured from up the bed, her voice muffled.

(That was  _ so  _ unfounded of her. He wanted to cry.)

(Oh no — the Leia drunk struck again.”

“I’m  _ definitely  _ the devil of an angel,” he reasoned, “Now, off to bed.”

He flicked off the lights and silence, at last, reigned.

* * *

In the following morning, Luke stepped out into the main hold looking like he had just been run over by a landspeeder.

He had woken up all alone on the floor — when there had been a perfectly fine bed next to him — disoriented, with no idea how or why he had ended up there. It actually took him several minutes to start moving, and his every muscle yelled at him to stop when he finally did.

Still, he did, and he came to find Han and Leia sitting by the game table. Leia, with her head down the table, looking like she had just lost a duel to Darth Vader, and Han with a smug smirk on his face.

“Good morning, kid,” he said loudly —  _ too  _ loudly, like he was very intended on making them pay for what they had put him through the night before. Leia moaned.

“Will you keep it down,” Luke complained as he dragged his feet towards them and took a seat. He confessed, “I have no idea what day it’s today, or where am I, or  _ who  _ am I.”

Han placed a mug of coffee in front of. “Sounds about right for your first hangover.”

Leia moaned again, as if she had just been reminded of why she was feeling like that.

Luke grimaced as he slowly remembered the past day. “Han, you know I hold you to the highest of esteems, right?”

Han shrugged. “It’s always good to be reminded of that.”

“Well,” he paused briefly, letting the heat of the mug warm his hands. “I hope you’ll take no offense when I tell you you’re never,  _ never  _ taking us out for drinks again.”

Han exaggeratedly (and very much on purpose) laughed, only to have Leia smack him in the arm with her closed fist, while still having her forehead glued to the table. 

“I, personally, can’t wait until we return to the rebel base today and Leia has to face her superiors and countless bureaucratic meetings while looking like  _ that _ .”

He held his palm open to her and, like magic, she raised her head at last. Her eyes were shot red and there were dark circles under them, “I’m going to kill you. I will kill you with my own hands.”

Han simply winked at her.

“Actually,” she changed her mind, “I’ll make you work. Very hard today. For hours straight, carrying things from side to side just because I said so.”

“Tough luck, sweetheart,” he challenged her, “Unlike you, I’m not  _ hungover _ .”

Leia grunted again, burying her chin between her hands. 

“Well,” Luke said, “I actually have to confess I had a great birthday yesterday.”

Han puffed. Leia groaned.

“Didn’t  _ you _ , Leia?” Luke demanded.

“I feel like I’m dying,” she murmured against her hands and felt both their prying stares over her. “ _ Fine.  _ I had a good day, as well.”

“ _ Good _ ,” Han smiled broadly, fondly smacking them both in the back only to hear them complain. “Can’t wait for you guys to see what I have planned for your  _ 21st  _ birthdays.”

Luke and Leia moaned in unison.

The devil of an angel, indeed.

(But it was okay, really — he might get the two of them into trouble, but he would always be there to take care of them, and that was pretty much all that mattered in the end.)

**Author's Note:**

> if you've enjoyed this, do take your time to leave a small comment here. Your feedback means everything to me.


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